Dogs of War
by JohnTFS
Summary: Sirius Black must evade both British law enforcement and the Ministry of Magic in order to stop Harry from being killed by Voldemort's deadly new assassin.
1. A Killing Frost

A Killing Frost

Author's note: _While I do enjoy the "Harry Potter" books, I sometimes believe that the "muggles" get a little shortchanged sometimes. They tend to come off as either ignorant bullies or helpless victims of magic. I've always felt, though, that "normal" people can rise to unexpected heights and show surprising depths in stressful, unconventional situations. With that in mind, I wrote this story._

_ Obviously, those characters belonging to J. K. Rowling belong to J. K. Rowling. The other characters belong to me (though it's hard to imagine somebody really wanting them…) so please don't use them without my permission. Enough preliminaries: On with the show!_

_Dogs of war and men of hate; with no cause, we don't discriminate._

_Discovery is to be disowned; our currency, is flesh and bone_

– Pink Floyd "The Dogs of War"

_ _

**Chapter 1: A Killing Frost**

The game was called "Muggle-hunt" and Simone meant to be the winner. The rules were fairly simple: A muggle was released into the forest and told that if he could find his way out, he could go free. After a brief interval three Death-eaters (specifically Simone, that arrogant twit, Porthos and the sadistic, but rather stupid Denderal) would pursue him. Whoever retrieved the Muggle (dead or alive, preferably dead) would gain Lord Voldemort's favor (for a time, anyway).

In truth, Simone found this exercise to be a bit distasteful. She had no particular grudge against the muggles. They simply needed to understand their rightful place: as servants to their wizard-born superiors. A simple glance at muggle history revealed their innate incapability at managing themselves or the world they believed to be their own. Sadly, the muggles (and, absurdly, many wizard-born) did not share her view of the world. Not that it mattered, of course. Lord Voldemort (with her well-rewarded aid) would see that matters were set right.

But that was for the future. _Concentrate, Simmy,_ she told herself. _You have a muggle to catch_!

*****

The muggle in question called himself Jack. He was a tall, muscular man who looked to be in his early thirties. He wore the camouflage shirt and pants of a hunter, along with black combat boots. He had no weapons with him, of course, that being part of the game.

Jack knew that making for the highway, or otherwise playing "by the rules" was useless in this situation. With their powers, the strangely dressed people pursuing him would easily find him and kill him if he acted predictably. So, rather than let the hunters run him down, Jack had decided to hunt them down instead.

He saw movement up ahead. A coolly-pretty red-haired young woman with a wand was slowly approaching his position. _Okay, children,_ Jack thought. _This is where the fun starts._

*****

Suddenly the muggle was before her in the clearing moving toward her at a charge. He was relatively handsome in a brutish way. Simone raised her wand, called out, "Imperio!" and then willed him to stop moving. Instantly, he did so, staring blank-eyed and awaiting her next whim.

Simone smiled in contentment. "There now, that wasn't so hard, was it? You muggles don't really need to be killed, just properly controlled. And control is my specialty."

"Hmm, I'd better test my control just to make sure," Simone said. In truth, she really didn't need to from what she could tell. The way the muggle responded indicated that he was under the spell.

"Let me see now… I know. Simone says: Cluck like a chicken."

The muggle began making the "Bawk-bawk" sounds of a chicken and a chicken in some distress at that.

"All right then, Simone says: Dance a pirate jig."

The man began a half-hop, half-dance near her. Simone giggled like a schoolgirl at the sight of it.

"Good, good. Now, come with me," Simone said.

The muggle walked toward her. Suddenly, he lashed out, smashing into her solar plexus with his hand held like a knife. The blow drove all the breath and strength from Simone's body. She couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't even think. Her wand slipped from nerveless fingers and she dropped to her knees.

The muggle was smiling down at her, eyes clear and filled with a bright, amused malice. "Sorry, honey," he said with a snicker. "You forgot to say 'Simone says'"

Simone saw the heel of his hand blurring toward her face and then a thunderbolt knocked her into darkness.

*****

Jack saw the lady witch stir to consciousness. 

"Congratulations," he told her. "You caught me on a very good day. That's why you're not dead. Yet, anyway."

The woman squealed with alarm and embarrassment. Jack had torn up most of her robe to supply the method of binding and gagging her. "Nice undies, by the way. I really like those baby dragons you've got on there."

"Okay, well," he said, giving her bonds a final tug and her butt a swat for good luck, "these oughta keep you under control for a while. See you around."

With that, he left her and headed into the woods where the other two hunters were tracking him.

*****

The wizard Denderal did not like the woods. The forest was cold, dark, and uncomfortable. Denderal did not like discomfort, his soft, chubby body spoke of that. He did not mind discomforting others, of course, but preferred to be safe, secure and relaxed, himself. Assuming Lord Voldemort's bid for power went better than it had the last time, Denderal expected to be quite comfortable, indeed.

Unlike many of his fellow Dark wizards, Denderal rather enjoyed the muggle world. He held a considerable amount of wealth and was able to use that money to indulge his… pleasures there. As opposed to the close-knit society of wizards, in the muggle world anonymity was possible. People could just… vanish with little comment. After this game was over, Denderal planned to take a trip to one of the seedier locations as muggles reckoned things. He could buy something young, firm and pretty. He could tie it up, play with it and listen to it scream for a while. For now, though, he had to deal with this irritating matter of the muggle in the forest.

Even the walk through the shaded forest had left him a bit winded and sweaty. Thus, he was gratified to see the object of his search, even if it was almost too late. The muggle leapt at him from the branch of trees. By sheer luck (specifically a previously cast luck spell), the man missed him and slipped on some deer feces as he landed.

Denderal scrabbled for his wand as the muggle, after a vicious curse, recovered his balance and came for him. As the man lunged for him, Denderal called out, "Crucio!"

Instantly the muggle staggered to a halt as the agony of the Cruciatus Curse exploded through his body. His muscles were clenched and his veins revealed from the effort of resisting the pain he felt.

"It's no use, muggle," sneered Denderal, safely holding the whip-hand with his spell. "Resist if wish. It just makes breaking you that much more interesting."

Then the man took a halting step forward. Then another.

"What!" Denderal exclaimed, not believing what he was seeing. He raised the wand again and loudly uttered the incantation. Then again. Then yet again.

It didn't seem to matter. Teeth gritted, eyes bulging, blood dripping from fists clenched so tightly against the pain that his fingernails cut into his palm, the muggle kept moving forward. He didn't look human anymore, instead seeming to be some spirit of murder born from the primal depth of the forest and set loose upon the world.

By the time it occurred to the astonished Denderal to flee, it was too late.

"You… like pain?" gasped the man as one of his fists sprang open like a claw. "I'll… give you… pain!"

Like a striking serpent, the muggle's hand slipped under Denderal's robe and seized hold of his crotch. And then began to squeeze.

Pain like lightning exploded from Denderal's scrotum to engulf the rest of his body. His Cruciatus curse withered away as the agony destroyed his will to concentrate. Weakly, he tried to claw at the man, who brushed aside his feeble attacks, squeezing all the harder. He looked into the man's face and saw only an expression of savage, predatory triumph with nothing of pity in it.

Then there came a final stab of agony, this time in Denderal's chest as his heart gave out from the strain. After that, it was a relief as the life left him.

*****

Jack watched as the fat wizard clutched at his chest and then fell back. Jack released his hold. The man hit the ground as Jack noted the blood on his hand.

"Guess you didn't have the heart for this kinda stuff after all, huh, Porky?" Jack asked the corpse. Then, after wiping his hands on the dead man's robe, he moved on into the forest.

*****

_Fools,_ thought Porthos. _All of them are fools_. Simone thought that the muggle vermin could be ruled like conquered subjects. Denderal, thought they could be made into toys for his amusement. They did not understand.

The muggles were vermin, pure and simple. One does not rule vermin. One does not make playthings of vermin. One _kills_ vermin, or one is killed by them. Even at the wizard academies, history was glossed over, painted with a deceptively bright sheen. The "witch-hunts" of the past were downplayed as hopelessly ineffective, even amusing in a sad, sick way.

Porthos knew the bitter truth. The muggles were vicious, brutal and lethal. He'd seen them in action. It had been twenty years ago, and he'd been a second-year Hufflepuff at Hogwarts. He and his father, mother and sister had been travelling on summer vacation in Egypt. His father had been interested in viewing the Sphinx and other ancient, wizard-raised monuments that the muggles were puzzling over even to this day. Dad got no end of amusement from reading about the more absurd theories the muggles put forth. 

"The pyramids were built by aliens from the stars," he'd chuckle. "How ignorant can the muggles be to believe in such superstitious nonsense?"

They'd been on their way to a bookshop in Cairo when it had happened. A muggle-child, perhaps six at the oldest, had run out in front of a car, one of those vile-smelling vehicles the muggles used to transport themselves. Instantly, unselfishly and unthinkingly, his father had reacted. He pulled a wand and levitated the child to safety in the barest knick of time.

Did the people thank him? Praise him? "No," muttered Porthos. "They killed him."

The ignorant trash on the streets didn't see a good wizard who'd saved one of their worthless children. They saw a demon or sorcerer and formed a mob to destroy him. Father tried to reason with them, but it was too late. They seized him and Mother. Dragged them down. Beat them to death. He'd managed to flee with his sister and only just got away.

He was raised by relatives, but never forgot the shame, fear and hate that had been born in him that day. When Lord Voldemort had risen to power all those years ago, he'd joined, drifting away after that blasted Potter creature had crushed the one hope the wizards had against the muggle vermin.

_But now our hope has returned,_ Porthos thought. _Now we kill them all, starting with the one in these woods._

*****

_Two down, one to go,_ Jack thought. So far he'd been good - and lucky. He'd fought off the one witch's mind control ability, played along with it and then nailed her when she wasn't expecting it. As for the fat guy, Jack was still a little shaky from that pain thing, he'd done. He'd felt worse that it in his time, but not much worse.

The problem was, both of those folks had managed to tag with their mojo. Jack didn't think it would be a good idea for that to keep happening. _Like ol' Mr. Miyagi says,_ thought Jack. _"Best defense - no be there."_

And as he looked at the trail in front of him, Jack thought he saw a way to take advantage of that defense.

*****

The sun was beginning to set now and Porthos muttered a spell to keep warm. The game was still on as far as he knew. Lord Voldemort had told them he'd let them know if the muggle were taken or managed to escape. Well, escape from them, anyway. There was no possibility of the man escaping the wrath of Lord Voldemort.

Porthos refreshed his tracking spell. The spell gave him a general fix on the muggle's location, but wasn't very specific. A rustle overhead snapped Porthos' attention to it. A rat was scurrying along one of the tree branches. A rat with a paw that gleamed of silver.

_Wormtail?_ Porthos wondered. _But he wouldn't be around here unless… Unless the game were nearly over. Unless the muggle had somehow overcome Simone _and _Denderal! Gods below…_ Porthos knew the muggles could be dangerous, but he'd had no idea they could be _that_ dangerous.

He pulled out his wand, gripping it tightly and scanning for the faintest clue to his quarry's whereabouts. Suddenly, he heard it! Off to the left, something large crashing through the woods! A shape burst from the bushes in front him and Porthos cried, "_AVADA KEDAVRA!" _as loud as he could.

An explosion of green light shattered the gloom of the forest and a hungry, rushing roar sounded, as though Death itself were riding wings of wind to seek its prey. Porthos shook his head to clear his eyesight of the green glare and saw…

A deer. A dead fawn lying on the ground with something like a cord or leash tied around its neck-

Porthus heard the running footsteps and saw the man coming at him, charging like a tiger. He raised the wand. "Avada Kedav-"

Too late. Before Porthos could pronounce the final syllable, Jack punched him in the throat with all his strength.

Porthos fell back, collapsing to the ground. He tried to breathe, but no air would come. His larynx had been shattered.

"Tell me something," Jack said, resting a boot on the dying man's chest and leaning down. "You're a Death-Eater, right? So, what's death taste like? I've always kinda wanted to know."

A trickle of blood spilled from Porthos' mouth as the life began leaving his eyes.

"Ah, nevermind. I can tell you're a little busy chokin' on that death your eatin' to answer me," Jack told him in a cheerful, magnanimous voice . "Tell you what, though. When you have time, after you get to Hell; be sure an' tell 'em Jack Frost sent you there, okay? I like to get credit where credit is due."

After Porthos finished suffocating, Jack looked around and saw the rat perched on the tree, watching him with gleaming eyes. He smiled at it. "Hiya there, ratboy," he said to the animage. "Why don't you go scamper off and inform Lord Moldywart that I passed his little test?"

*****

After Jack had reclaimed a few of the items he'd removed before the "Muggle-hunt" game, he and the nervous Peter Pettigrew entered the gates of the abandoned but serviceable castle that was serving as the headquarters for Lord Voldemort. In the courtyard, Jack received a searing glare from Simone, who was clad in a fresh robe.

"Aw, don't be like that, sweetie," Jack told her with the smile of a predator. "After all, you were the lucky one. You got to live."

Pettigrew ushered Frost into a darkened hallway that led to the reception area. If Jack noticed the shadows and the shadows of those shadows lurking and hissing in the alcoves, he paid them little mind. 

Eventually, they entered Lord Voldemort's presence. Despite the mystic torches set around the throne room, a perpetual gloom hovered like a suffocating blanket over the room. Acting as the Dark Lord's voice, Lucius Malfoy spoke first, while Voldemort crouched on the throne like a bird of prey. Other Death-eaters stood nearby, awaiting Voldemort's commands. Jack smiled merrily and looked at them, eyes full of mirth and empty of conscience.

"Lord Voldemort congratulates you on your survival, Mr. Frost," Malfoy said, the distaste of having to speak with (much less praise) a muggle evident in his voice.

"He believes that you may be adequate to accomplish a certain task."

"Well, that's just dandy there, Merlin," Frost said to Malfoy. "But I'd rather talk to the organ-grinder instead of the monkey, if it's all the same to you."

The insult hang in the air like an exploded bomb, stunning all (aside from Voldemort) into frozen silence.

Malfoy's hand moved to his wand when Voldemort said, "Stop."

Fighting down his rage, Malfoy complied. "Of course… my lord. As in all things, I obey you. Even those I may… fail to understand."

"I do not require your understanding, merely your obedience," Voldemort said. "However, I will tell you that I have a use for this man. And that you would have been dead before your first spell word had been spoken. Correct, Mr. Frost?"

"Absolutely, your lordship," Frost replied as something small, sharp and lethal disappeared back up his sleeve.

"I have use for your talents," Voldemort said. "And so I tolerate your… eccentricities. But only to a point." Voldemort fixed his cold, red gaze on Frost. Jack's smile slipped for instant before reasserting itself and he nodded compliance to the dark wizard.

"You are known as a 'troubleshooter' of sorts, correct, Mr. Frost?" Voldemort said.

"Yes sir," Frost responded in a professionally respectful tone.

"Excellent then," Voldemort said and smiled, a cold, awful thing that made the air in the room seem to shiver as though from fear.

"There is a trouble I want you to shoot. It's name is Harry Potter…"

Not even close to

THE END


	2. Dead Man Talking

Hell opened up

_Hell opened up, and put on sale; gather 'round and haggle._

_For hard cash we will lie and deceive;even our masters don't know the webs we weave._

_One world, it's a battleground;_

_One world and we will smash it down._

-Pink Floyd "The Dogs of War"

**Chapter 2: Dead Man Talking**

Sirius Black was having a fairly good day until the dead man bought him a drink.

After Harry Potter's revelation that Voldemort had been restored to health and power, Black had been tasked by Albus Dumbledore to reconnect with some of the wizards and witches who had valiantly resisted Voldemort the first time around.He was aided in this work by Remus Lupin, his best (still living) friend and occasional werewolf.Not the least of Remus' contributions was convincing the aforementioned wizards and witches not to kill Sirius on sight.

Due to the cowardly (but viciously cunning) treachery of Peter Pettigrew, Sirius was believed to be a murderous agent of Lord Voldemort himself.He was known to the mystical and mundane worlds at large to be a murderous escapee.The wizards "knew" him to have escaped from Azkaban, the (formerly) inescapable wizard prison and had marked him to be subjected to the soul-destroying "kiss" of the vile Dementors.The non-magical persons of the world, "muggles" as the wizards called them, believed Sirius to be a murderer and a terrorist.If they somehow found him, they wouldn't destroy his soul.Instead, they'd "merely" shoot him full of more holes than Swiss cheese.

Neither of these fates appealedto Sirius in the slightest, so he was attempting to keep a low profile.He'd dyed his black hair a grayish-brown and cut it short.He wore rounded, copper-rimmed spectacles on his face.Instead of wizard's robes, he wore a rumpled, brown business suit (which tended to ride up in the seat. Gods alone knew how the muggles could tolerate such a hideously uncomfortable style of clothing without going mad.) He looked much like a tax accountant or bureaucratic functionary stopping off at pub for a nice Guinness Stout before heading to his (rather dreary) home. The style of dress was deliberate. One of the things Sirius knew was that the best disguise made the person using it look unlike themselves and like nobody in particular. 

So, wrapped in his cloak of mundanity, Sirius Black was awaiting Percival J. Cobblepot, who worked in the Section for the Investigation of Cosmological, Paranormal and Unexplained Phenomenon (SICPUP). The "sicpups" (who utterly loathed the unfortunate nickname fobbed on them by their acronym) were ostensibly a "think-tank" funded by the British government. They supposedly thought up ways to prevent the earth from being invaded by space aliens or destroyed by giant meteors. In truth, the sicpups had formerly worked with people in the Ministry of Magic to help contain dangerous situations of a mystical nature and prevent them from becoming general public knowledge.Currently, SICPUP was "out-of-the-loop" on matters magical in general and Voldemort's return in particular.On Dumbledore's instructions, Sirius was here to bring them back into the loop.

Unfortunately, the group was ridiculed by the rest of the muggle government (who weren't in the know about the magic beneath their very noses). As such, SICPUP tended to become a dumping ground for all the malcontents, unemployed relatives of government officials and outright loons that the government couldn't place anywhere else. During the last struggles with Voldemort, Sirius had found them to be the most obtuse, ill-organized and downright insane people he'd ever met. One fellow, a rather huge James Bond fan, had somehow requisitioned a whole load of geological survey equipment in order to seek out Voldemort's base (which he was convinced was in a hollowed out volcano somewhere in Scotland. It wasn't.). The last anyone ever heard from him was in the note he'd left. In it, he'd declared his intention to let himself be captured by Voldemort's forces, learn the Dark Lord's plans when he bragged about them and then escape. 

_Although, _Sirius mused. _There _was _a skeleton in a pit of flesh-eating beetles in one of Voldemort's hidey holes that looked strangely familiar…_

"Well, well, well, Paddy Footen, as I live and breathe," said a jovial male voice."Fancy seeing you after all this time."

Sirius, who'd been lost in recollections, felt a brief moment of panic at the sudden greeting.Especially considering the name that had been used.Raising his gaze, he saw a tall, white-haired man whose steel-gray eyes glittered with a kind of malicious amusement.The man's tan overcoat was open and revealed a well-tailored, pinstriped business suit.He was leaning on an ornate, dragon-headed cane.He carried a brown, leather briefcase in hand, which he set on the seat opposite Sirius.Then, without waiting for an invitation (or even a reply to his first words) Martin Deveraux sat down.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ Black cursed himself.The whole point of picking the corner booth was so he could watch the door and be able to slip out the back if someone (such as, for example, an absolute prick of a self-squibbed wizard whom Black had happily thought dead for twenty years or so)he didn't like the looks of happened to come inside the pub.Questions fired through Black's mind at the speed of light, even as he twisted his wrist to let his wand slide into a hand he held below the table.Could he get out the back?Was it being guarded? What did Deveraux want?How did he know about Black being Padfoot?And, finally, how in God's name had he known where to find Sirius?

A couple of Black's questions were answered in a dismayingly short time.As he looked around, he saw several people whose manner screamed "military" lounging not-so-casually around the pub.As though to underscore his predicament, a large, thickly muscled man with mud-colored hair and emerald green eyes came through the back door, nodded to Deveraux and then leaned against the doorpost.

"Barkeep!" Deveraux called out. When the bartender looked up, Deveraux continued. "Bring us a nice bottle of Scotch and three glasses.One for me, two for my friend.He's probably going to need them."

When Deveraux turned back around Sirius saw him smiling so contentedly he almost thought he saw canary feathers between the man's thin, bloodless lips.

"So, Sirius, how've you been lately?Seems like the circumstances are a bit different from the last time we saw each other, eh?"

**20-odd years ago in the Hogwarts Great Hall**

The Great Hall of Hogwarts was empty of tables but filled with students.Albus Dumbledore had called them together to mark a far more solemn occasion than usual – the public expulsion of a student.

"Can you believe that they're actually going to toss out 'Smarty' Marty?" a much younger Sirius Black asked his three companions and occasional "partners-in-crime."

"Too bad they don't include a few more Slytherins," Remus Lupin agreed. "I wouldn't mind seeing the back of Snape, Malfoy and the rest.'Trusted head boy' or no trusted head boy, there's no way in hell Smarty pulled this one all by his lonesome.Heck, he was practically a Squib even before all this happened."

The student, one Martin Joseph Deveraux, had apparently broken into the school's library one night.As Head Boy, he had much greater access than many of the other students.After he'd broken in, the sixth year had managed to locate several very powerful tomes of Dark magic before being caught by the Librarian and several teachers.That was all that the students had been told.However, rumors had been flying fast and thick about some sort of magical accident in the Library and even darker deeds.

"W-Well why would he cover for them, then?I mean, if he gave them up, Dumbledore might've let him off with a suspension," a smaller boy, Peter Pettigrew put in.

"Maybe he's not willing to pay the price to stay," James Potter said thoughtfully."If it was us that'd done this, I'd like to think I wouldn't sell you guys out just to stick around here."

"Yeah," Remus replied. "But we're us, and they're them!" He hooked a thumb toward the Slytherins, especially Malfoy and his crew.Lucius Malfoy and company looked about the same as they usually did.Rumor had it that Malfoy was in the running to be Head Boy, though it was unlikely he'd get it.Albus Dumbledore was supposed to be older than God, but nobody in the school believed he was _that_ senile.

"Huh?" Sirius noted. "Looks like Snape swallowed something nasty this morning, doesn't it?" Indeed, Severus Snape looked nervous, perhaps even worried.While Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy came from wealthy wizardling families, Snape did not and seemed to depend on the "kindness" of Malfoy's crew for the luxuries he enjoyed.As a "poorer relation" in the family of wizards, Snape had no powerful family to protect him.As such, he would be the logical scapegoat if further punishments were to be handed down based on evidence Deveraux might give.

"Maybe he sucked a lime instead of his usual lemon," Peter suggested.

"Maybe he's got a guilty conscience," Remus opined.

Sirius snorted. "That assumes that stuck-up sneak _has_ a conscience.Which I doubt.Gods, I hope they start soon.I cannot _wait_ for this.Do you know how many times we've taken crap from Dev 'cause he was Head Boy?Like it was a game to see how many times he could score off us.And those tricks, too.Hell, I _still_ get queasy when I remember how he slipped that muggle medicine, Ex-Lax, into my Levitation potion!I rose into the air on a magical wind, all right.Bastard!"

"I'm sure he'll be here soon, Sirius," said Peter, who tended to get nervous whenever others got too agitated, as though he feared being stepped on by his larger, stronger companions (which had almost happened once when James had turned into Prongs, his elk form, while Peter was on the ground as a rat). 

"I heard that Deveraux only got out of the medical wing today," James informed them. "Anybody know what really happened to him?"

"_Nobody_ knows what happened to him," Remus informed them all. "I asked Hagrid, the groundskeeper.Some folks say he's close to the Headmaster.Anyway, he says that they're not even going to say what Marty was trying to do.Said they were afraid it'd give other students ideas.Anyway, except for Dumbledore and the Minister of Magic, nobody knows what happened."

"Um, almost," Peter said in a self-satisfied voice.

"What? No.No way!" Sirius said.Once he, James and Peter had achieved their secret animagus status, Peter had become even more the "scout" of the four.Thus, the "Marauders" as they called themselves, had access to a great deal of supposedly secret information.Still, the idea that Peter had been able to find out a secret as huge as this was almost unbelievable.

"Well, come on then.Spill!" urged James.While he was consider by many to be one of the more mature students, especially among the other fifth years, James Potter was no more immune to the pull of curiosity than any of them.

Peter pursed his lips. "I don't know…" he said, preening a little.It wasn't often that he was the center of attention and he wanted to enjoy it for all it was worth.

"Oh, come on!" James said as they all moved to one side for a bit of privacy.

"Well, okay then," Peter said, beginning his tale for his eager listeners.

Anyway, I'd decided to, you know, practice changing and such, so I could do it more quickly.Never know when being small might come in handy in a getaway.Okay, so I was going through the vent pipes when I heard voices and I went to go check it out.

No Sirius, not to spy on the girls' shower room!Gods, is that the only thing you think of?I'm surprised I don't see you humping somebody's leg, as horny a hound as you-

All right, fellows, all right, let me finish.Okay, so the voice I hear are Marty's and Dumbledore's and that Minister Guy whose name I forgot. And they were talking, see?

I'm getting to the about what part, guys.I swear, sometimes you guys're as bad as that Crouch guy we heard about that works at the Ministry!Now, you wanna pull out the pincers and hot irons or can I please finish?Fine, Sirius, the longer you think it over the loner it'll take to get my story.

Thank you!So, anyway, the Ministry Guy's yelling at Marty and Marty's not talking're anything and then Dumbledore kinda suggests, if you know what I mean, that maybe the Minister should leave and cool off for just a bit and then it's just Dumbledore and Marty and then Dumbledore asks Marty real gently to tell what happened. So then I hear Marty say something like:

"Sir, it's like this.I want to get into the Ministry of Magic and be an Auror, but I just don't have the power for it.I'm muggle-blooded on both sides of my family.So, I decided to try and get more power.Anyway, I got into the Library and into the forbidden section.Then, I looked up the Severing Charm."

It's what they used before, you know, Azkaban and the Dementors. I mean, they couldn't very well just lock a wizard up someplace where he could just Apparate out or something, Sirius.So, they'd do the Charm on him and he couldn't use magic again.Ever.Made him a Squib, just like that! Maybe you oughta _read_ your History of Magic book instead of sleeping on it.Ow, Sirius!Leggo my ear!Thanks James.

So then Dumbledore asks him why that one and Marty says he had an idea."The thing is, we've learned some Dismissal and Reversal spells in "Defense Against the Dark Arts" and I thought about combining the Severing and Reversal spells together.I figured that way, instead of wiping my power out, the Severing would be reversed in natureand make me more magical than ever.So that way I'd be an Auror for sure.I, uh, know it was wrong and, well, it rather got out of control somehow."

I'm getting to that part, Remus!So Dumbledore says that the effect rebounded off Marty and started going after the school.The Severing Charm starting sucking out all the magic in Hogwarts, including some of the Dimension spells that make Hogwarts bigger inside than outside.Dumbledore tells him that if he and the other teachers hadn't been able to shut it down the effect, it would've sucked all the magic out of everyone here at the school!Possibly even thrown us all into another whole dimension or something!

"That stupid, selfish, _evil_ bugger!" Sirius exclaimed in horror."Bloody hells, I'm _glad_ he's a Squib now!He deserves it for that!"

"Sirius, keep your voice down!" James hissed."Do you want us to _join_ Martin in being expelled from here?" If other students heard him say that, then so might some teachers.And the teachers would wonder how he'd found out, since only a very few people knew what had happened in the library.From there, it was quite possible that James, Peter and Sirius would be unmasked as secret animages.After this incident with Marty, they would quite likely be expelled themselves

Like flaming torch set to gasoline, the news that Deveraux had somehow become a Squib, a wizardborn without the magic of his birthrate, swept through the Great Hall on a firestorm of gossip.The only saving grace was that no one seemed to be able to determine that Sirius had set it first.

"Guess everybody knows now, huh?" Remus said in a light voice that belied his concern. "Okay, then what happened?"

Okay, so anyway, Dumbledore says that he knows that Martin couldn't have done it alone, 'cause he wouldn't have the power to get past the wards.It's not just 'say the password and the wards lift.'You've got to use your magic to push the wards away like they were some type of heavy rock.So, not student alone, especially not Marty, could've done it alone.Then he asks about the books.

The books I'm fixing to _tell _you guys about!Dumbledore says that there were some books of Dark Magic actually stolen and still missing.Yeah, I figure Malfoy or maybe Snape got 'em too.Then Dumbledore said that Marty had to come clean or face public expulsion.Marty says he did it alone.Dumbledore says he understands being loyal to friends, but this is for their own good, that those books are dangerous to everybody.Marty says he did it alone and the books were probably just destroyed.He says and I remember this part, he says "Sir, I swore an oath to be loyal to Salazar Slytherin and those in his house.You might call me a snake, and I may deserve that.But I'll be _damned_ if I'll be called a rat!"Yeah, I felt a bit insulted at that one.

What, he's coming?Lemme see!

As Sirius and the others watched, Albus Dumbledore quietly entered the room.The old magus looked every year of whatever advanced age he'd reached.Instead of a merry twinkle, his eyes were filled with sadness and resignation.His robes were a subdued, dark gray and seemed to hang on him like a funeral shroud.He reluctantly approached the speaking podium.

"My students, my colleagues, my friends," he began. "Traditionally, this Great Hall is a place of joy and celebration, but not this day.This day one of us is leaving forever.This one has-, has betrayed this school and its principles, he has dishonored his House, he has abused his position of responsibility.He has done a thing that _some," _Here Dumbledore looked at the Minister of Magic, whose name Sirius had still failed to remember. "might say, is unforgivable.Martin Joseph Deveraux, please come forth."

A door opened and a solitary figure came forward.His hair was white and his gray eyes seemed frozen.He held no wand, bore no books and did not even wear his wizard's robe.Instead he wore the odd, uncomfortable-looking clothing that the muggles had termed a "suit."The impact of his hard-soled shoes echoed hollowly through the vaulted room.He seemed to ignore the disapproving mutter of voices from the other students concerning his choice of attire.His expression altered only once when he glanced over at his former Slytherin associates.A half-smile filled with bitterness and secrets rushed like quicksilver across his thin lips.

_Yeah, they were in on it with him,_ thought Sirius, simmering with anger at justice being denied, even while watching Malfoy's crew.They seemed tense but confident.Of them all, Snape was the only one who'd looked away from the smile.Rumor had it that Deveraux and Snape had been friends of a kind due to their somewhat similar temperaments.Finally Deveraux reached the end of the hallway and stopped before Dumbledore's podium.

Dumbledore took a faintly ragged breath and began to speak again. "Martin Joseph Deveraux, you know the crimes of which you have been accused and found guilty.It is therefore the ruling of the Board of Governors of Hogwarts School that you be expelled.You are cast out from this place.You are no longer a member of the Hogwarts family.You are," again emotion briefly overpowered Dumbledore. "are now dead to us all.Do you understand this ruling?""

"Yes sir," Deveraux said.His voice was a thing of empty ash.

"So understanding, have you anything else to say that might alter this decision in any way.Understand that this is your final chance to speak to those whom you once called brothers and sisters in magic.After this moment you are dead to them and dead to me, for all the days of our lives.What have you to say this one, final time?"

Sirius saw the Minister glaring daggers at Dumbledore, who was apparently going "off the script" with his last question.Darting his eyes to the Slytherins, he saw Malfoy's gang, Snape included, tense like coiled springs. _Come on, come on,_ he urged his soon to be "dead" brother-in-magic. _Just spill it here and they'll give you another chance!_

After a pause that seemed eternal, young Martin Deveraux spoke, "I have nothing further to say, sir."

Dumbledore seemed to sigh in disappointment, "Then, as Headmaster of this noble school, I command you to be gone from our presence."

Without a word, the boy began walking from the Great Hall.

He was about a quarter of the way down when it started.Someone, perhaps even Malfoy himself, called out "So long Squib!" That final insult seemed to make the cast out boy stumble.As if scenting blood in the water, others, like sharks, took up that chant.Then yet others.The whole school began crying out the call as Dumbledore vainly shouted for order.Sirius was adding his own voice and looked around.Remus was saying it as well, though his heart didn't seem to be in it.Peter Pettigrew was more than making up for him.He rarely had a chance to strike back at one of his tormentors without risk.James Potter was silent, a look of disgust on his face.A look pointing at Sirius.

"What?" Sirius asked in a shout to be heard. "Come on, he deserves every bit of this!He was king turd of Crap Mountain as Head Boy.Made our lives a living hell as much as he could.Now look at him and what is he?" He gestured at the hunched and lonely form making its way toward the Hall exit as though fighting a windstorm.

"He's better than we are," James responded. Then, with a look of disappointment at those around himself, James Potter muttered the words of a Bellow cantrip to be heard.

"The Slytherins can eat one of their own if they want to," James called, his voice filling the Hall without even seeming to shout. "But as a Gryffindor, I see no reason to join them for dinner!"

Sirius winced from the shame in his heart.James Potter had always had a near-uncanny way of seeing the right way in any situation.And he tended to follow that way no matter what it threatened to cost.Remus had quit speaking just before Sirius had.Peter saw that his friends had stopped and, after almost seeming to mull his options, stopped as well.A few other Gryffindors glared at James for being a "spoilsport" but they fell quiet.Then the rest of the Gryffindors.Then the Hufflepuffs.Then the Ravenclaws.Then the Slytherins themselves faltered and became still.Sirius thought he saw Severus Snape shoot James a look that might have been gratitude. With a single sentence, James had drained the room of the hateful energy filling it.Then, save for the footsteps of the banished student, the Great Hall was silent once more.

Martin stepped at the edge of the door, shoulders hunched.Sirius thought he was going to break down and weep then, but he didn't.He just stood there a long moment, like a skeleton whose flesh and innards had been burned away.Then, seeming to draw strength from some unknowable source, he turned back to face the crowd. And smiled something that might have been triumph.Then, he tipped a goodbye salute to them all, turned back around and walked out the gate into the darkness beyond.

"So, I guess things changed after all, don't they, Martin?" Sirius asked through gritted teeth and feeling his wand slip further into his hand.

"Some things, Sirius, but not all.You're still damnably easy to read when you're trying to be sneaky.That's how I always caught you when I was Head Boy.I'd just look at your face and know when something was in the offing," Deveraux replied. "Which is why I want you to lift your arms out to the sides very slowly."

The other customers in the pub along with the staff, had left by this time, having been ushered out by some of Deveraux's people.The others had those muggle-weapons, guns, pointed at him.Sirius hesitated.

"So, what's the plan, Martin?" he asked. "Going to turn me into the Ministry to buy your way back into their good graces?"

"Nay, laddie," grumbled the Scottish accented voice of the man-mountain by the door. "Th'plan issat yer goin' ta do like th' boss tol' ya or we're gonna splatter yer guts all o'er that booth."

Seeing little choice at present, Sirius complied with the orders.A large black man moved in from the side, taking care not to block the aims of the others pointing guns at Sirius.Sirius felt a bubble of dismay.Whoever these people were, they weren't amateurs.Or fools.Sirius tried to tip the wand back up his sleeve but it was spotted.The black man gripped his wrist and slipped his sleeve up his arm.His wand sheath and a small dagger were revealed to their gaze.Quickly, professionally, Sirius was stripped of his weapons.

"Good," said Deveraux approvingly. "Now then, place your hands palms down, flat on the table.Do not speak unless I specifically give you leave to speak.My team is quite familiar with certain protocols in dealing with our, well, _your_ kind."

Again, seething, Sirius complied.

"You know, I remember every detail of that evening in the Great Hall.I remember you and Pettigrew.I remember all of you very, very well," Deveraux said in a seemingly nostalgic voice.

"It took everything I had to walk that walk, you know.After it I pretty well gave it up.Ended up down in Brazil bent on drinking myself to death."

"Pity y-" Sirius was going say _Pity you didn't succeed_ but before he could really begin he felt someone seize him by the hair and slam his head into the wooden table, making him see stars.

"Wha' part o' "Dinnae be talkin'" did ya nae understand, fellow?" asked the Scottish giant who'd just put him up close and personal with the wooden table.

Knowing he'd need his wits reasonably intact, Sirius did not reply.

"Fortunately for all, I came to my senses," Deveraux said, gesturing for Sirius to reply.

"Such as they are," Sirius said grimly. "You seem to have gone up in the world.In some ways."

"Oh yes, quite.I eventually came back to England.Joined the army.Won some friends," Deveraux gestured at the hard-looking men with him and smiled. "Influenced some people.Made rather a good life for myself, one I expect to get even better quite soon."

Sirius mulled that and a stark realization hit him. "You betrayed us to the Muggles, didn't you?You've told them everything about us!God, Martin!How could you-"

"Betray Wizardkind? Betray "my family?" Deveraux snorted with icy contempt. "What family there?I'm dead to you all, remember? Cast out forever.I know who my family is.But for what it's worth, the line barring the living from the dead is thinner and fuzzier than you might think."

"What now, Martin?You've obviously got a reason for being here."

"That?Don't worry about that, I've got something interesting in mind," Deveraux said cheerfully. "Too bad James got himself killed.I always rather appreciated what he did for me that day and never got a chance to tell him properly.Still, I'm not surprised at what happened to him.It's the noble ones that always come to nasty ends."

"You piece of dung," Sirius said, rage filling him at this Slytherin snake mocking James' sacrifice.The big fellow started towards him, but Deveraux waved him away.Sirius didn't care either way. "James Potter was the very best of us.And if you dare to speak of him with disrespect again, I will kill you now no matter what the cost!"

Deveraux's response, when it came, was puzzling.He seemed to smile with secret satisfaction, as though some unknown goal had been reached."I expected no less from you, Sirius.You always were loyal to the end.That's one reason, among several, that I knew you never betrayed the Potters."

With that, Deveraux grabbed his briefcase and stood up, moving away from the booth. 

"So now what?Is it back to Azkaban for me?" Sirius asked bitterly, torn between feeling shock that Deveraux believed in his innocence and utter frustration that the cast-out mage didn't care."You going to use me as your ticket back from the dead? Maybe you'll get the Order of Merlin!Damn you, you self-righteous, vindictive bastard, look at me!"

So Deveraux turned and looked back at him. "Oh, relax, Sirius, I spent a lot of effort having Lupin's house watched and waiting for you to get back here.I'm certainly not going to waste that by turning you over to Corny Fudge.Little prig'd probably get all the credit.As usual.Besides, I suppose I owe James Potter a kind of debt.I certainly wouldn't want to repay that by letting his best school chum get his soul eaten, you know."

"Y-You're not turning me in?" Sirius said, astonished hope springing up within him. "You're just going to let me go?"

"Certainly not. I can't have you running around loose, either," Deveraux informed him in a seemingly sad voice. "No, Sirius, I'm afraid there's only one solution to this problem.I'm just going to have to kill you."

He nodded to his people.Sirius tried to dodge, to move, to do anything, but there was nothing to be done.There was a sound like a hundred thunderbolts and he felt his body crushed by a dozen hammerblows.The impacts pinned him to the booth and then smashed him down into darkness.

"Right then," Deveraux said, lighting a cigarette and looking at Sirius Black's unmoving form with satisfaction.

"Pack him up and let's go," he ordered his people."We've got a schedule to keep."


	3. A Day in the Life of the Lord God Almigh...

I'm just an aging drummer boy, and in the wars I used to play

Author's Note: _Further details on the Quinteped can be found in Magical Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Salamander (which is a pseudonym for J. K. Rowling)._

I'm a soldier of freedom in the army of man

We are the chosen, we're the partisan

The cause it is noble and the cause it is just

We are ready to pay with our lives if we must

- Dire Straits "Ride Across the River"

****

A Day in the Life of the Lord God Almighty

In the life of every person, there are defining moments. Moments of reflection. Moments of transition. Moments of decision. Many times, these moments are visible to others. Other moments pass seem to pass unnoticed by others, despite their ultimate importance. Such was the case for Martin Joseph Deveraux. It happened like this:

"Daddy, why did Snuffles have to die? I didn't want him to die," the six year old complained to his father.

Snuffles had been the family's aged golden retriever and young Martin had been very fond of him. The Deveraux family was something of a rarity, a wizard clan which had extensive dealings with muggles. Though their fortunes were somewhat on the decline in both worlds, the Deveraux family was still quite wealthy and could afford servants to watch over young Martin when business or pleasure occupied his jet-setting parents. Snuffles was quite probably the only friend of Martin's who wasn't paid for such service. And so, his presence was sorely missed.

Winston Deveraux, who was close to being unfashionably late for a cocktail party, gave his young, serious son the only answer that popped into his mind. "It was just God's will, Marty. He wanted Snuffles up in Heaven with Him, that's all. I'm sure that Snuffles is very happy there."

Martin didn't reply at once. He chewed his father's answer over in his mind. Then, coming to a decision, he said, "Daddy, can I still grow up to be anyone I wish to be?"

Winston, who was at the very best only barely familiar with church doctrine, felt on firmer ground with this one. "Absolutely, my boy. You're a Deveraux, after all. You can grow up to be anyone you want to be."

"Good, then," Martin said, nodding his small head for emphasis. "When I grow up, I want to be God. Then I can visit Snuffles and do anything I wish to do to."

Winston Deveraux had given a vaguely approving response to his boy's decision and then left, not want to be late for the Jones' party. By the time he'd gotten to his car, the story was an amusing anecdote to tell at the party. A few hours after that it was completely forgotten by everyone. 

Except, of course, for young Martin Deveraux.

*****

"Yes, Prime Minister, yes I'm very proud of the lads," an older Martin Deveraux said to the man on the other end of the phone. "Indeed, sir, I'll be glad to pass that along to them. Yes, sir. Well, I'm glad you'll be able to get a good night's sleep as well, sir. You're quite welcome again, sir. Goodbye to you, sir."

__

Ah, good, Deveraux thought with satisfaction. _That should take care of our budget for the next two years or so. Bugger me, what a long, strange trip this has been._

The boy who'd been cast out of Hogwarts had grown to become a man, and a quite powerful one at that. He'd fled England after the expulsion and lost himself in Rio, rum and self-pity for perhaps a year. Afterwards, he'd returned and joined the British army, needing to belong to something bigger than himself. He soon saw action in the Falkland Islands conflict with Argentina. An Argentinean bullet had shattered his knee and gotten him decorated for conspicuous valor under fire. It had also effectively ended his active military life and forced him to walk with a cane to this day.

Still, he'd forged bonds and made friends in the conflict and those ties aided him in getting an appointment to MI-5, the British government's intelligence agency. While there, he showed a talent akin to genius in being able to recruit and manage spies in other countries. Martin had carefully cultivated the ability to seemingly see into a person's secret heart, determine what they most wanted (or feared) and leverage the person accordingly. So talented was he at his game, that others jokingly ascribed magical powers to him. Deveraux took a certain bitter joy in their praise, given the fact that he was completely unable to work magic anymore.

Then came Voldemort. The previously secret, stable relationship that the highest levels of the government enjoyed with the Wizards inhabiting Great Britain began to become anything but. Weird creatures stalked the land and sighting of UFOs (which greatly resembled people on broomsticks fighting with one another) became far more commonplace. Inexplicable deaths of people began to occur. SICPUP, which was theoretically supposed to "contain" magic-based situations, was nearly powerless. People in charge were desperate for answers and finding none. It was in that climate that Martin Deveraux decided to bet his life to win his future.

He went to his highest superiors and told them who he was. _All _of who he was. Given the current paranoia gripping the highest offices in the land, Deveraux risked much. Disgrace, imprisonment, perhaps even execution as a wizard spy. Fortunately, his superiors were open-minded enough (and desperate enough) that his gamble paid off. Deveraux had kept up with news on the wizard front and was able to give his higher-ups a much clearer vision of what was going on. He described common magical effects and how to recognize them. He explained, to the degree he understood it, how magic worked. He helped identify some of the magical creatures beginning to plague the "muggle" portion of the country and how described how to deal with (or even destroy) them. Ultimately, of course, it was somewhat irrelevant. Before the government and military could actually use most of the fountain of information Deveraux had provided them, Voldemort met his downfall at the Potter's house and the crisis was over. 

Still and all, there has always been a tendency for people to want to learn geology after an earthquake has occurred. The government and military had been caught off-guard by forces they barely understood. They had no wish for this to happen again. And so, decisions were made and money was spent. 

SICPUP was effectively gutted as an agency. They would function as a think-tank, but little else. To replace SICPUP, the Bureau of Occult Operations (BOO) was formed. Primarily, BOO would be an information gathering agency. It would forge ties with the wizards' own Ministry of Magic and act with them to help deal with future occult outbreaks. In order to actually deal with these outbreaks, Beta Section was formed.

The Bureau of Occult Operations, Beta Section (BOOBS) was to be the hands of the Bureau. The easily mocked acronyms for the agency were deliberate. "Muggles" had always had a reputation for absurdity and fecklessness among wizards and the silly acronyms played to that reputation. Thus, when BOO asked the Ministry for information on spells, potions and other magical knowledge, their requests were approved by people who did not take the muggle agency seriously. This information was then poured over, analyzed and evaluated by agency people who were eager to "live down" their agency's lightweight reputation. The analysis of magical knowledge was then forwarded to the BOOBS (which was in fact formed using soldiers who were already in the Special Air Service (SAS) and thus considered by many to be the finest special forces soldiers in the whole of the world). The BOOBS then incorporated that knowledge into their training exercises. Deveraux, being the acknowledged "expert" on magic, as well as having combat experience, was placed in BOOBS as their "unit wizard."

__

And then things really _started to take off,_ he recalled.

Further remembrances were cut off by a quiet knock at his office door.

"Yes, what is it?" Deveraux asked, his tone for once devoid of the sharp impatience that usually characterized it. The resolution of the Sirius Black situation had put him in quite the good mood. 

"Your papers, General," said his secretary, Margaret Smyth-Watkins. She entered the room. Margaret was a thin women in her early 50s and the maintainer of most that was orderly in Deveraux's life.

"How many times have I told you, Maggie? Don't call me "General," I work for a living," Deveraux teased her. In fact his full title was: General Administrator of the Bureau of Occult Operations. In the field, the title was shortened to General, or simply "G. A." In private he tended to be referred to as "God Almighty," in semi-joking fashion. Deveraux was aware of this, and rather liked it, if the truth was told.

"I believe that this time was number three hundred and fourteen," Margaret replied blandly, handing him his newspapers. 

"The _Times_ and the _Daily Mirror _came by mail, of course, and this," she wrinkled her nose slightly as she handed him the _Daily Prophet_. "Came by bird." Despite (or perhaps because of) the fact that she worked in an agency devoted to the investigation (and occasional elimination) of the supernatural, Margaret tended to dislike events that were outside her basic worldview. Having a wizard-printed paper delivered by a magical owl was somewhat outside her worldview.

"Ah, bless you Margaret, what would I ever do without you?" Deveraux asked.

"Most likely drown in your own disorganized paperwork, I suppose," Margaret replied, giving his office (and particularly the pile of paper on his desk) a faintly disapproving glance before returning to her own work outside.

Deveraux's office was actually quite impressive, in its way. During a visit to the Oval Office in Washington D. C., Deveraux had been impressed by its design. He'd become even more impressed after learning that the Oval Office and in fact the whole city of Washington D. C. had been designed and built with the aim of impressing and intimidating foreign dignitaries and visitors. So, using some of his own money, he'd had his office remodeled accordingly.

Deveraux's office was similar to those of other high-level officials of the government (if a bit more richly appointed due to its occupant's subsidizing of certain expenses). Tasteful portraits of the Queen and the current Prime Minister hung in places of honor on the wall. There were multiple phone lines that allowed him to be connected with others in high positions. There were a few differences, though. Along with books, for example, his bookshelves contained curios, souvenirs and downright oddities that he'd acquired during his unusual services to the government and people of Britain. He'd occasionally put one of them in prominent sight on his desk when he expected important guests. The current "conversation piece" was a sealed glass jar that had a single, human-like eye floating in some sort of fluid. It looked like something that would be found in a biologist's lab, except for the fact that this eye blinked, briefly manifesting eyelids from some unknown source. 

Deveraux was quite fond of the object, which he'd found in India and never exactly identified. He used it to point out that "There's nothing quite like looking eye to eye with the unknown to change a person's perspective on things."

Chuckling slightly, Deveraux opened the _Daily Prophet_. As he'd expected, the death of Sirius Black was the banner headline. He smiled as he noted the tone of the articles. The paper conveyed considerable relief that Black was no longer a threat. However, the fact that it was a group of "Muggles" who'd brought the "murderous and insane" wizard to justice didn't go down very well, it seemed. The editorials pressed this line of discussion. One writer wondered why the Ministry of Magic had been so incapable of catching the man, suggesting that they should "stop playing with their wands all day long and do their jobs." Another writer had half-seriously suggested, "Perhaps it might be a good idea to retain the services of this 'elite anti-terrorism group of muggles.' Maybe they can show Cornelius Fudge how one goes about catching dangerous criminals." 

Deveraux laughed long and hard at the irony of that statement. Unbeknownst to him, that writer had hit dangerously close to the truth of the matter.

Shortly after his appointment to BOOBS, the fledgling department encountered its first major test. A freak storm in the North Atlantic had forced several fishing vessels to take shelter near an unplotted (and unplottable) island off the coast of Scotland's northernmost tip. Adding to the fishermen's troubles was the fact that the island in question was the Isle of Drear, home of the man-eating Quintepeds. The Quinteped were furry, five-limbed creatures who'd been transfigured into their state as part of a feud between two wizard families. Although some unknown (and probably magical) process prevented the Quintepeds from starving to death on their barren, rocky, island home, the creatures nonetheless had a near-insatiable desire to consume human flesh. They were also quite weary of their current residence. The fishing vessels, therefore, came as quite a welcome sight for the Quintepeds.

The first word Deveraux and his people had of the situation came from the Ministry of Magic. The Ministry had received a hastily scrawled note sent by owl that a horde of hairy monsters was attacking the fishing village of Dunkirk. Unfortunately, the witch who sent the note had a history of exaggeration and even hallucination, so the Ministry didn't take the report all that seriously. However, since the then head of BOO had been pestering them for a chance for Beta Section to get some field experience, the Ministry decided to "investigate" the case. So it was that three Ministry wizards and the twenty man unit that was the whole of Beta Section traveled to Dunkirk to deal with the situation.

There followed twenty-two of the most nightmarish hours in Deveraux's life. The "squats" as they were nicknamed were incredibly fast and hideously strong. They also possessed near-human intelligence so they could use their capabilities to their best advantage. Most of the time passed as a blur of house to house searches for an enemy that could seemingly appear from anywhere and kill in an instant. Ultimately, the vile creatures were destroyed, though at hellish cost. Of the twenty members of Beta Section (not BOOBS, never again BOOBS), three had made it out alive. Most of the villagers, including the unfortunate witch who'd given the initial warning, were dead. Deveraux's team had managed to save several small children whom the Quintepeds had imprisoned in the constable's jail cell, which they were apparently using to store their future meals. The site was documented by BOO researchers. Then it was destroyed utterly by Ministry wizards, who used their magic to call up gigantic waves, supposedly from the recent storm. After all, there had to be some kind of "mundane" explanation for the deaths of almost every man, woman and child in the village.

Beta Section was repopulated under Deveraux's command (since he'd been the highest ranking survivor). The photos from the Dunkirk butchery caused purse strings to loosen considerably. Deveraux was able to obtain the supplies and facilities he needed for the operation. Based on the testimony of the one surviving Ministry wizard, the Ministry began taking Beta Section and its parent organization seriously. Indeed, whether it was from genuine respect or simply cold-blooded calculation ('better the muggles than us") the Ministry brought in Beta Section to help them deal with some of the more lethal magical menaces. That way, the "muggles" could do the bulk of the fighting (and dying) while the Ministry took the credit (since Beta Section was kept a secret from other wizards, who would have been horrified at the involvement of "mere" muggles in such matters). That trend had continued until now.

Though the newspapers had only been told that the group which had brought down Black was an unnamed anti-terrorist group, Deveraux knew that Fudge was certain to know who'd stolen his thunder. So, it wasn't all that long before Deveraux took a call that started off with, 

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE PLAYING AT?!" 

Deveraux winced at the unexpected volume of the furious Minister's voice. "And a good day to you, Minister Fudge," Deveraux replied calmly. "Anything I can do for you?"

After several ragged breaths Fudge continued, "Don't you play stupid with me! You know exactly what I'm talking about! Sirius. Black."

"Oh yes, that," Deveraux continued. "Well, Fudge, the man _was _a murderous wizard. He killed a rather large group of people, at one point, most of them innocent British citizens. He was a vicious fugitive. We brought him to justice. I fail to see the problem."

"You were supposed to leave Black to us," Fudge reminded him. "Had you simply informed me as to his location, my people would have handled it. Instead, your actions have made the whole Ministry look like fools. Upstaged by muggles!"

"Perhaps," Deveraux acknowledged. "On the other hand, your people have been trying to "handle" this fellow for over two years, by my reckoning. I suppose we _could _have sat back and hoped he didn't kill too many other people before dying in his sleep of old age, but the Bureau's mandate doesn't really allow for that. It's that pesky bit about "seeking out threats to the well-being of the public and dealing with them using all due speed." Perhaps you should talk to the Prime Minister about adding "unless it happens to annoy the Ministry of Magic" to that particular line."

On the other end of the phone, Deveraux could almost hear Fudge's teeth grind. _You know, if I were getting any more pleasure out of screwing another man like this, I'd have to rethink my sexual orientation, _Deveraux thought to himself smugly.

After a pause to presumably reclaim the tattered remains of his composure, Fudge spoke again. "What happened to Black's body?"

"I had his remains sent to you, they should have arrived today," Deveraux replied.

"Something arrived from your office, but it was only a vile-smelling gray paste," Fudge retorted. "We assumed it was yet another potion about which you muggles were ignorant. It's being analyzed."

"Ah, I see," Deveraux said, in the tone of one suddenly receiving enlightenment. "That "paste" _was_ Black's remains. Given the nature of the things we encounter, I tend to emphasize caution and thoroughness when training the men. One of my adages is: 'Don't believe it's dead until you've chopped off its head, incinerated the corpse and pissed on the ashes.' I suppose one of my men took the adage a bit literally."

There was a strangled grunt from the other end of the phone and then silence. _Probably too much to hope that the twit's keeled over and died of apoplexy,_ Deveraux thought.

It was. Fudge's voice came back on the line, frosted with cold anger and malice. "Then this closes the Black matter. We appreciate your work, Mr. Deveraux and we look forward to working with your office in the future."

"So that we can ram a pike up your arse and listen to you scream," Deveraux said after Fudge was gone, interpreting the probable meaning behind his final words.

Much of the rest of the day was spent doing paperwork. While an army might travel on its stomach, it bedded down in a nest of reports, files, forms and memos. Then the time came for the final bit of business Deveraux had for the day.

He got up, walked to his bar and poured one shot glass full of the vile Brazilian whiskey that had fogged his brain during the months immediately following his expulsion from Hogwarts. He slammed the stuff down his throat in one gulp, feeling it burn toward his stomach like an acid. The taste of it lingered in his mouth, the taste of failure, despair and hopelessness. He'd made a ritual of drinking exactly one glass of the stuff a day, to recall from where he'd climbed and to build his resolve never to fall back into the abyss.

The ritual accomplished, Deveraux gathered some files he thought he might need and left his office. He also buckled to his hip a holster carrying the Colt .45 caliber automatic pistol he wore as a sidearm. While all the countries in the NATO alliance had officially switched from the Colt (which had seen service since 1911) to the 9mm Beretta in 1990, Deveraux preferred the stopping power and sense of history of the Colt. He walked down the halls of his headquarters, the hollow sound of his own footstep echoing ahead of him. The corridors of the building Beta Section inhabited were mostly deserted. He didn't encounter another person until he saw Sergeant McTavish, who was guarding a rather valuable prize the Section had recently taken.

"Out fer a stroll, Cap'n?" McTavish asked in his Scottish burr. The two had known each other since the beginning of Beta Section. The brown-haired, muscular sergeant had been one of the few to survive the quintepeds' near-slaughter of the first Beta Section team. 

"Something like that, Sergeant," Deveraux replied in a studied, casual voice. "I need talk to someone. And then make a decision."

"Yeh know, just this once yeh could leave that to the folks upstairs. Yeh dinnae have to take it all on yer own head," McTavish reproved him.

"Don't be absurd, Angus," Deveraux said, beginning to walk toward the doors the big man was guarding. "This situation is my responsibility from beginning to end. Now, I have to deal with it."

"Oh, bloody hell, man. Nae wonder they call yeh God Almighty!" McTavish almost spat at his friend. "Yeh sure as death play at it enough."

Deveraux fixed the other man with an icy stare. "Given the fact that a person's life hangs in the balance of my decision, I hardly think that 'playing' is the correct term. Do you, Sergeant?" responded Deveraux, emphasizing the other man's rank.

The fight seemed to depart from McTavish at that, replaced by resignation. He stood to the side to allow Deveraux to pass unhindered.

After he crossed the door's threshold and began walking to his destination, Deveraux heard the Sergeant speak a final time. "Yeh know, I'm nae sure what worries me th' most: How much yeh put yerself into these positions, or how much yeh seem t' enjoy it."

Deveraux let the silence behind him be his reply. Then he took he cleansing breath and tried to clear his mind for what would be something of an ordeal. Afterwards, he walked into the room of the one patient in the base's medical wing.

"So, how are we feeling today?" he asked lightly.

The patient was restrained by flexible leather cuffs designed to hold injured prisoners, which was an accurate assessment of the current patient's status. In addition to normal restraints, around the man's neck was a tightly fitting collar attached by a metal chain to the steel bed frame. 

The patient turned an unfriendly glare on his visitor. "Better than I might have been, I suppose. What do you want from me?"

"To business it is, then," Deveraux responded. He drew his sidearm, disengaged the safety and laid the weapon on a small, wheeled table. Then he sat down in a chair near the table at eye level with his prisoner. The gun was in easy reach.

The prisoner watched Deveraux's actions, but betrayed no obvious fear. His attitude seemed instead to be one of a person subjected to a lengthy, irritating and unnecessary inconvenience.

"I find myself troubled by certain doubts about your trustworthiness, Sirius," Deveraux informed the very much still living Sirius Black.

"Oh for God's sake, Deveraux, how many times to I have to say it: I did not betray the Potters!" Black insisted angrily. "You even said you believed me, before you had your men use their contraptions to knock me unconscious and crack several of my ribs!"

"Oh, I haven't the slightest doubt about that, Sirius," Deveraux informed him. "I am quite certain that you are a loyal "dog" as it were. No, the question I need to an answer to is whether you are a mad dog as well."

Sirius' glare reflected both anger and puzzlement as Deveraux continued speaking.

"And I will have that question answered to my satisfaction. Otherwise, I will send you to "that good night" of a _real_ death," Deveraux informed Black, his eyes filling with a merciless determination. "And this time, I promise you that you will not return."


End file.
